Sick Day
by Rye-bread
Summary: Kim is ill and her boys come the the rescue withchicken and noodle soup based on a fanart by Richard Sirois


based on "Sick Day" by Richard Sirois at Richard's Page of Fanatism

epilogue based on "Schoolbuddies" by Richard Sirois at Richard's Page of Fanatism

Richard Sirois is also Lionheartcartoons at DeviantArt

Kim, Ron, et al belong to Disney.

Richard and Daphne Harte are based on Richard and Helen Lionheart, who belong to Richard Sirois

The words of Romeo and Juliet are by William Shakespeare

The Four Musketeers are the literary creation of Alexander Dumas

Kim's stuffed nose dialect was something of a challenge; if it stumps my readers, I'll do a rewrite.

_**SICKDAY**_

"Huh...huh...hah-**CHOO**!"

"Oh, God," Kim groaned, "Lebbe die."

A voice came from downstairs. "How do you feel, Kimmie?"

How did Mom **think** she felt? A word came to mind, but she would settle for feeling like crap. "I feel like crab, Bob; by head id stuffed full of snodt."

"Full of **what**, dear?"

"**Snodt**, Bob, snodt!"

"Dear, that's not an appealing."

"I dow, Bob"

Kim heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Mrs. Dr. P. came in the room, wearing her ever-present lab coat; sympathy and concern shown in her face. She shook her head and clucked her tongue.

Kim's covers were pulled up to her chin; her nose and both eyes were red and swollen, and her hair was disheveled and frowzy.

Mrs. Dr. P. sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, dear, you're feeling so poorly." She put a hand on her daughter's forehead.

Kim knew the routine; she stuck her hand out from under the covers. Mrs. Dr. P. gripped her daughter's wrist lightly and studied her wrist watch. "Pulse is good.'' She took an electronic thermometer out of one lab coat pocket. The probe always reminded Kim of an oven thermometer. Kim opened her mouth. "Hold it under your tongue," instructed Mrs. Dr. P. Kim was prone to gag on it, so she held it carefully.

"Hey, Mom, are you gonna stick it under her arm..."

"...like you used to do with us?"

Kim groaned; the Tweebs, the little hatchlings. The imps of Hell had sensed her misery and had come to torment her.

It was just yesterday that her fellow Middleton High classmate, fellow Team Possible teammate, and art major Richard Harte had explained the imagery of the Renaissance paintings of Hell, from the bizarre triptychs of Hieronymus Bosch to the terrifying Last Judgment of Michelangelo, and the theology of sin, damnation, and punishment. She had some questions after her Art History class, and he knew his stuff; his vivid explanation gave her goose bumps.

He had an amazing grasp of art-and history, literature, music, science-and martial arts. His sister Daphne often said that he had a thousand year old soul; Kim once said that he had a thousand volume encyclopedia stuffed into a blender for a brain.

But, oh, the Tweebs, her own personal fiends; "Jim, Tim, your sister is sick; now leave her alone and get ready for school."

They just stood there-at the foot of her bed.

"Aww-she gets to stay..."

"...home from school? **We** wanna stay..."

"...home from school!"

"Mom-are you gonna stick the thermometer..."

...up her butt?"

Snicker, snicker; the demons had their pitchforks out.

"**Boys!** That's **enough**!"

Kim felt a sneeze coming; she gave it her best performance. She opened her mouth wide, drew her head back, and let it rip. "Haaah...**CHOOOOOOOH**!" She barely covered her mouth.

The Tweebs recoiled. Mrs. Dr. P. grimaced; she gingerly handed Kim a box of tissues. Kim snatched one and blew her nose sloppily.

"Hey, Dweebs; cub here ad led be kiss you bodth."

Their eyes widened in horror. "Aauugghh! Cold cooties!" They fell over each other, and with the stampede of small feet, they were gone.

Kim grinned evilly; this thing had its good points.

Mrs. Dr. P. pursed her lips with only mild disapproval. "My little Kimmie-showy but efficient."

"Thag you."

"No fever; your temp is normal. Can you sit up, dear?

Mother helped daughter sit up. Mrs. Dr. P. took out a stethoscope from another pocket of her lab coat. She put the earpieces on and the other end on Kim's upper back. "Now breath in, through your nose; hold; and breath out, through your mouth." She listened several more times, repeating her instructions. She took off the stethoscope and helped her daughter recline. "Your breath sounds are good. Are you achy or chilled?" Kim shook her head. "I think you just have a cold-a very bad cold." She smoothed Kim's hair. "My poor baby."

More footsteps were coming upstairs, and Mr. Dr. P. appeared, with a steaming mug. "Kimmie Cub? How are you?" The frown lines of concern creased his face.

"I'b fide, Dad." Kim always put the brave face on for Mr. Dr. P. , partly because he had so thoroughly bequeathed the "anything is possible for a Possible" attitude, both in word and deed, and because she usually found his loving attentiveness annoying; but Mr. Dr. P. was a kind gentle man, and he almost always overlooked Kim's irked attitude toward him.

Dad had heard the sneezing, the voice; he knew better; and he had prepared Nana's hot toddy: a shot of whiskey, a shot of honey, a shot of lemon juice, heated to roiling. Kim's parents and grandmother were, for all intents and purposes, teetotalers, but a bottle of whiskey was kept for just such occasions. One bottle would literally last for decades in a Possible household.

"Thag you, Daddy." Kim accepted the steaming mug after all; this was perhaps the second or third time in her life she had drunk the potion.

That single word "daddy" unfailingly unlocked the floodgate of tenderness in James Timothy Possible's heart-and would do so for the rest of his life. He helped her sit up in bed and held an arm around her shoulders while she slowly drained the mug.

"Do you want one of us to stay home with you, dear?" Mom asked.

"Do, Bob; I thik I'll be ogkey."

"Would you like a TV in the room?"

"No; I'b sure Dada's hod doddy will pud be doo sleeb."

''Well, just to be sure;" Mrs. Dr. P. picked up the Kimmunicator; "May I?"

Kim nodded. "Uh huh."

Mrs. Dr. P. punched the button and Wade Load appeared on the screen.

"Dr. Possible! What's the sitch? Is Kim okay?"

"Kim will be fine, Wade, just a bad cold; can you do us a favor?"

"Sure."

"Could you page Ron or Rich or Daphne if any calls for help come for help to the website?"

"Dr. Possible, it would be my pleasure."

"Thank you, Wade." She winked. "You rock, by the way."

Wade blushed and signed off.

"Kimmie, you know of course that there's not much I can prescribe except lots of rest, and drink lots of fluid."

"I dow, Bob."

Mrs. Dr. P. drew the covers back up to Kim's chin and tucked them in around her shoulders. Mr. Dr. P. had gotten a quilt and spread it over her; she gazed up gratefully at them both as each parent stood on either side and they gazed down fondly at her. "Thag you-I lub you bodth." Her eyelids slowly settled as the hot toddy kicked in. They quietly tiptoed out.

The day wore on.

Kim was delightfully languid, drifting in and out of sleep, savoring the golden sunlight shining through the window, and the golden silence of no one else home. In the absolute silence, all sounds were magnified, even the rustle of the sheets when she stirred.

_Click._ That was the front door lock; her eyes snapped open.

_Squeak._ That was the front door opening. She lifted her head, every sense alert; it was battle mode.

She heard the soft footfalls downstairs; one, two people. Dammit; this cold; she felt so spacey. Well, she was Kim Possible; she could still mop the floor with any dozen henchmen of Drakken, or the Señor Senior's, or whoever. She slipped out from under the covers and grabbed up her backpack; cable gun, laser lipstick, the works; she was armed and ready; bring 'em on. She was wearing her usual sleepwear: tank top and sweatpants. Stealthy as a cat, she tiptoed across the floor and out the door.

It was by the banister that an urge to sneeze overtook her. She tried to stifle it by pinching her nose. "Ha-CH-SKNX!" God, that hurt! Damn, another sneeze! She tried sneezing into the backpack. Ha-CHFFF! Well, they were on to her now. She heard whisperings downstairs. She crept to the head of the stairs. She still had the high ground. She strained her ears, listening for any sound that might indicate a firearm: the cock of a hammer, a clip, anything. She heard a whisper: "K.P.? That you?"

"Rod?" Astonishment coursed through Kim. She peered down the stairs. Ron was craning his neck, peering up the stairs. The unruly bangs, the freckles, the brown eyes, the lop-sided goofball grin-and Rufus on his shoulder.

Every separation between these two was like a lifetime apart. He bounded the stairs, two or three at a time. Her adrenaline surge was wearing off, and she was feeling woozy again. Like synchronization, they opened their arms; she threw her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her waist; he lifted her off her feet and their kiss was long and tender. Rufus hopped onto the railing and sighed in contentment as he watched them.

"I missed you this morning," he said.

"You're goig to cadtch by code," she said.

"The 'Ron-factor Fortress Of Immunity' will protect me," he proclaimed importantly.

"By dah way, why are you here?"

"We came on a mission of mercy."

"We-you mead you ad Rufus."

He inclined his head in the downstairs direction. She followed his gaze, and saw-Richard Harte.

"Rich?"

Rich looked up; slender face, deep brown eyes, wire rim glasses, tousled hair, untameable cowlick, sincere, frank gaze, and warm shy smile. It was a face the Food Chain would never welcome, but would inspire trust and confidence.

Rich had been watching the two of them as they kissed, and he thought of Juliet's words to Romeo.

My bounty is as boundless as the sea,

My love is deep; the more I give to thee,

The more I have, for both are infinite.

"Ron got an urgent page on the Ronnunicator," he told her. "Someone was terribly ill and we had to deliver emergency rations."

Kim eyed both of them suspiciously. "Ad whose idea wad dis?"

Ron arched an eyebrow. "It was a joint effort."

"Dah subwud derribly ill id-"

"You."

"Ad dah ebergedcy ratiodz are-"

Rich held up a kettle. "-Ron's chicken and noodle soup."

Ron barked to Rich. "Dr. Harte, we've got to prepare those rations immediately; fill one bowl and microwave for ninety seconds. This patient is not ambulatory; I've got to get her back to intensive care;" and he scooped Kim up into his arms.

Rich saluted. "Dr. Stoppable, I'll get on it right away; hopefully we've arrived in time to save the patient's life."

"Dr. Rufus, go and assist Dr. Harte."

Rufus stood erect and saluted. "Sir, yes sir;" and down he slid on the stairwell railing.

Kim rolled her eyes. "You are all crazy."

Ron smiled slyly. "I know."

"Ad you soud like you are aroud by Bob doo buch."

"Well, that's only because I'm around you so much."

His heart raced like the rocket-powered scooter; to carry her in his arms; and who would have thought: his friend for life had become the love of his life.

Her heart raced like the rocket-powered scooter; to be carried in his arms; and who would have thought: her friend for life had become the love of her life.

He explained as they went to her room: "Wade beeped us both before school and told us the sitch. I thought about cutting classes to come see you, but Rich is a pastor's kid, and-well, I can't be bad in front of him; but then he says to me, 'Are you thinking what I'm thinking?' and I say to him, 'I am so thinking what you're thinking.' I said I needed time to go home and get my soup ready, and he told Wade to beep me during first hour, to make it look like a real Team Possible emergency. When the page came, Rich went to Barkin's office and said that he could handle the problem himself, but Barkin insisted that we both go."

Kim tried to look disapproving; with Rufus, these two were like the Three Stooges; they were worst than the Tweebs.

Something had clicked when Ronald Stoppable and Richard Harte became friends. On the one hand they were like Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer, the two most outrageous pranksters imaginable. On the other hand, they were like Castor and Pollux of Greek myth: the two brothers, the sons of the gods, inseparable, comrades at arms, fierce and implacable warriors. Ron had made Rich more relaxed, less withdrawn; Rich had made Ron less whiny, more competent. They even called each other "Bro".

As Ron stepped through Kim's door and carried her to her bed, it struck him: this so looked like a honeymoon-and if he were to mention that, K.P. would so freak out; and it struck Kim, as Ron carried her to her bed, this was so like a honeymoon-and if she were to mention that, Ron would so freak out.

He set her gently on her bed; he piled up and fluffed the pillows behind her so she could sit up, and drew the covers up to her shoulders.

"So-tell me how you're doing."

"Well, you cad hear how by voice souds; I was sdeezig all bordig; Bob gave be dah usual physical exab ad Dad gave be dah hod doddy."

Ron nodded knowingly. "Oh, yeah, Nana's hot toddy; that's probably the closest you'll ever be to getting wasted." They both smiled. "Your folks are the best, K.P."

"I dow, ebed dough I ged so dweaked subtibes. I assube you god id dah house wid dah spare key I gabe you"

"Yeah." Conversation languished for a few moments; they contented themselves by holding hands and staring shyly into each other's eyes.

Kim found her heart melting within her; come hell or high water (she had heard that from Rich-he was so into these old expressions) Ron would always be there.

Ron only stared spellbound: bleary eyes, frowzy hair, red nose, Kim was still the most beautiful creature alive.

"I hobe you dod't catch by code."

"I have the sure cure: the Ron'ster's kosher chicken and noodle soup"

"Id chicken ad doodle soub kosher?"

Ron winked. "Mine is."

Ron's chicken and noodle soup was a classic; it had come from maternal grandmother Carolena, a dairy farm housewife in rural Michigan, who had passed on only a few years before. The noodles were made from scratch. He would combine the flour and water, knead the dough, roll out the pasta with a rolling pin, cut it into narrow strips, and boil; each noodle were square instead of round, and perhaps as thick as a pencil. He boiled a whole chicken to make the broth, and added what he called a "few" bouillon cubes, and sliced carrots. He then "seasoned" the broth; a pinch of this and that, he would say with a wink. Like his grandmother, Ron never measured a single ingredient. He would then cut up the chicken into large chunks. It required both hands to lift a bowl of this chicken and noodle soup.

They heard Rich coming up the stairs. He entered the room carrying a tray with a steaming bowl, spoon, and napkin. Rufus hopped off his shoulder and curled up on the foot of Kim's bed

As Dr.'s Mom and Dad had done, Ron and Rich sat on opposite sides of Kim's bed; they supported the tray while Kim held it on her lap. Somehow they made it all work; not a drop of the soup was spilled.

Kim sniffed the broth. "Oh, Rod, id sbells delicious!."

She was ravenous; she ate three bowls, and insisted on two mugs of the broth alone; Rich prepared a couple sandwiches with chicken and mayo, which she wolfed down.

Ron was appalled. "K.P., I never eat this much at Bueno Nacho! You're gonna burst!"

As he returned from his umpteenth trip down and up the stairs, Rich nudged Ron. "Starve a fever, feed a cold, huh?"

Kim made conversation between bites. "So, tell be; if Teab Possible id all here, who will Wade call?"

"Daphne said she would handle any calls," Rich said; "and if she needs help, she'll call me. She says get well soon, by the way."

"What did Daphde say aboud you're foolig Barkid?"

"She disapproved, of course-but she said she would keep quiet since it was for a good cause."

Kim nodded; Daphne was extremely conscientious about obeying rules, but she loved her brother fiercely, and often turned a blind eye to his pranks. In matters of missions, of course, Team Harte's commitment to protecting the life and limb of the innocent was held as a sacred duty, and in this regard, the whole of Team Possible was always on the same page.

At last Kim was full. A belch escaped he lips; surprised, she covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, guys, I'b so sorry;" and she giggled. Ron, Rich, and Rufus all smiled broadly.

"No big, K.P.; I'm glad you enjoyed the meal."

Rich gathered up the tray. "I'll clean up; you two relax."

Ron stretched out on the bed next to Kim. "Well, babe, are you tired of us?"

She leaned back. "Dired ub by boys? Ub course dot." But her mouth started to blossom into a yawn, which she covered with her hand.

"Oh-I'b sorry."

"Here, K.P." He leaned on one elbow and stroked her forehead and hair lightly with the fingers of his other hand.

Kim closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. "Oh, Rod, thad feels so good."

The footsteps were heard coming up the stairs. It was becoming a very familiar sound.

Rich came in the room; it was a heartwarming scene that met his eyes. "Dare I say it? You two like an old married couple." He had been attending Middleton High since his freshman year, when he had transfered from Upperton High, and he had known even then that these two should be together.

"Rich-I hab a codfessiod."

"Aha; a confession; what prompted this?"

"Becaude you guys hab beed so good do be; you dow your dickdabe for be?"

"My nickname for you? 'Kismet'?" As Ron, and only Ron, had always called Kim "K.P.", and as Dr. Dad, and only Dr. Dad, had always called her "Kimmie-Cub" (which so tweaked her), so Rich, and only Rich, had called her "Kismet"; he had blurted it out one day, and then tried to take it back, but it was too late; she knew it was the name of a Hollywood musical (which, with history, mythology, and everything else, was one of Rich's passions.) She had taken to the name immediately-but that is another story.

"Id's dah Arabic word for 'Destidy', you said."

"I'm with you."

"Well, I hab figured id oud: by destidy id do be surrouded by dorks."

Rich tilted his head, most perplexed; he looked so comical she had to laugh.

"Bud-id's a good thig. When I wad obsessed wid popular boys, id wad nothig bud heardbreak-"

Another sneeze was coming; her eyes and mouth grew wide; Ron hastily offered the box of tissues and Kim hastily snatched a handful.

"-**CHOOO**! Thank you, Ron; as I was saying-" her eyes grew wide with astonishment. "My God-I can **talk**!"

She gazed upon her two men. "When I was hung up on popular boys, it was nothing but heartbreak; but since Ron and I started dating, I can really see: the best men in my life have always been the dorky, corny guys: my dad, my best friend-slash-boyfriend;" she squeezed Ron's hand and continued; "my tech guru, Wade, and my new friend, my new Team partner."

Kim knew that under Rich's quiet exterior the still waters ran deep. The glow of admiration is his eyes meant more to her than if he had gone off on one of his long Shakespearean speeches.

Downstairs came the sound of the front door opening. "Kimmie-Cub, I saw Ron's scooter parked out front; is everything okay?" Dr. Dad's voice trailed up the stairs.

Kim shouted back. "Yes, Daddy, everythig id fide!" and the look of disappointment flashed on her face. "Oh, do, by code id back."

The Kimmunicator beeped its "call me reach me" tones. Ron stretched his arm to retrieve it. "K.P., this party's just getting bigger by the minute."

Wade appeared on the screen. "Kim, I apologize for calling; I know that Ron and Rich were going to see how you were doing, but I haven't heard anything all day, and I was worried."

Kim almost laughed; here a dork, there a dork, everywhere a dork, dork. "Yes, Wade, I ab feelig buch better, thag you."

Jim Possible had been worried all day about his little Kimmie-Cub. He was utterly mystified by the voices he heard coming from her room-until he got to the top of the stairs.

He was both pleased and saddened by the little group he saw in her room; pleased because she was apparently in recovery-and in good hands. It was symbolic; they were all here; her little band, her group of protectors, Ron, Rufus, Wade, by means of technology; her Four Musketeers; Athos, Porthos, Aramis-and even the new one, the D'Artagnan-Rich. And he was sad-on several levels-his little girl was growing up; there were more people in her life to care for her than just him and her mother; and the irony was, not one of them did he look on as a possible-excuse the pun-consort for her: the twelve year old recluse, the naked mole rat (obviously not), the Bueno Nacho assistant manager-he sighed; he loved Ron like a son, but it seemed like the boy had no initiative-and the art major. His own choice would have been someone like Erik-and what a disaster that almost was. Well, his headstrong daughter knew who she wanted, and he would trust her good sense-as he had trusted her mother's good sense years before.

Ron and Rich both stood. "Mr. Dr. P., hiya," said Ron, as comfortably as if he were at home. "Dr. Possible, sir," said Rich, much more formally, even offering his hand.

"As you were, boys. Well, young lady, how's my girl."

"I feel buch bedder; I slebt a lod, ad my boys brought be luch."

"Chicken and noodle soup," said Ron; "Grandma's own."

"We left some in the 'fridge," said Rich; "for later-as per needed-right, Dr. Stoppable?"

"Right, Dr. Harte."

Mr. Dr. P. shook his head wryly; these two connivers; cutting class, no doubt. It was an indication of Kim's character, that she should inspire such loyalty in her friends. "Would you two like to stay for supper?"

Ron shook his head. "I hate to say it, I gotta go; I have the evening shift at Buena Nacho; Ned gets kinda tweaked if I don't show."

"I'll take a rain check, too, Dr. Possible," said Rich.

"Well, I'd better go and head off my sons; they'll be home from school soon. Thank you both for coming. Kimmie, your mother will probably come up to look in on you when she gets home. 'Bye, Wade."

"Dr. Possible, guys; Kim, I'm glad you're feeling better; and Wade signed off

"Okay, Dad; I thik I'b goig to ged adother dap."

Mr. Dr. P. leaned over and kissed his daughter on the forehead.

"I thik I'll be okay for school toborrow."

"We'll see what your mother says; maybe you could use a dish of this miraculous soup for supper, or some hot tea."

From their perspective, both Ron and Rich could see the tender looks father and daughter gave to each other. If James Timothy Possible envied the bond his little Kimmie had with her friends, then surely Ronald Adrian Stoppable and Richard Leo Harte had an equal amount of admiration for the cords of love that fastened this kind man and their Kim together.

After Mr. Dr. P. left the room, both Ron and Rich made their goodbyes also.

"You guys are dah best; I lub you both."

Ron leaned over and kissed her-on the lips. "Love ya, K.P."

"By brave hero."

Rich leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. He did not express any feelings, but only smiled; it would take a medieval scholar to describe his affections for Kim, and they did not intrude in the slightest into the romantic bond between her and his best friend. In his heart he addressed Kim with the words of Romeo: "Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, and peace in thy breast."

"Good night, Kismet," he said.

"Good dide, Rich;" and one smiling face drew back behind the ajar door

"Good night, K.P."

"Good dide, Rod;" and another smiling face drew back behind the ajar door.

The door gently clicked shut. Kim snuggled under her covers and hugged Panda-Roo. "I'b a lugcky girl, Badda-Roo." Two faces floated in her consciousness as she drifted off to sleep: one rounded face with rude blond bangs, brown eyes filled with adoration, big ears, freckles, and goofball grin-and one narrow face, with wire rim glasses, deep brown eyes, tousled brown hair, untameable cowlick, and a warm smile.

_**EPILOGUE**_

In her dreams that night she walked through the halls of Middleton High School, arm in arm with her two men at either side, as they would do after a successful mission. She heard the shouts and murmurs of encouragement from her friends and the gasps of shock and dismay from the "Food Chain."

"Come back to us," they wailed. "It was bad enough when you were just friends with Stoppable; now he's your boyfriend; and you're hanging with Richard Harte? the Jesus Freak, the Preacher's Kid? Come back to us, Kim; remember what it was like, the 'boys, boys, boys;' the joy of being more important than everyone else; the stress of wondering: are you Popular or Un-; are you All That, the A List?, the Queen B?"

And their wails only got louder. "Kimmie! Don't you know? We have the secret to Life; you either eat them or they eat you; that's the Food Chain! You're with us, or you're not!" She thought she saw the face of Erik among that crowd, and it gave her the chills.

Her friends applauded, whistled, high-fived Ron and Rich, said "way to go," or "you so rock," or gave her the thumbs-up.

Monique Knowles appeared with Felix Renton and said admiringly, "Lookin' good, girlfriend!"

Kim beamed with pride; but then a dubious look came over Monique's face. "Girl, you're not crushing on Rich, are you?"

Of course not!-was she?

She noticed for the first time how often she would steal a glance at Rich on her right, and how he always seemed to return the glance with that warm shy smile.

Well, why shouldn't her admiration for this worthy young man be allowed to grow? She had so thoroughly disrespected both him and his sister for their first couple years as Middleton High, before they had revealed themselves as Team Harte

As they left the house, Ron asked: "Bro, remind me of that thing you once recited about Kim."

_That rich head of hair; thick as a wheat field and radiant as the rising sun_

_And those lips, that puppy-pout mouth_

_And that little round chin_

_But those eyes_

_When she is angry, they flash green sparks_

_When she is sad or grieving or pensive, they are like a deep emerald ocean_

_When she is loving and joyful, they are like the glow of green luminaria_

_When she is restful they are the soft green of grass in spring_

_If I live a thousand years, I will always be in love with those eyes_

Ron savored each word. "Wow; Bro, you're a poet; you've summed it up; I wish I had your gift." He clapped a hand on Rich's shoulder and laughed. "Are you sure you're not crushing on my girl?"

Rich laughed and clapped a hand on Ron's shoulder. "C'mon, Bro, you know my heart; to you she's a lover; to me she's a patron saint, a fellow warrior, a friend. Besides, what you tell her every day has its own poetry: there's only one Kimberly Ann Possible, and you're the man who's won her heart; booyah."

"Booyah," echoed Ron. They bumped right-hand fists in their own peculiar "handshake" and doubled up on the scooter; and off they rode.


End file.
